


Cotton Candy Sweet

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, It's Actually So Self-Indulgent, Pregnonna/Fair Food OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Anonymous said:Okay but like everyone saw Wyndolls make out at Bobo's party so the town could just assume he's the baby daddy and I would be so ready for Nedley to try and engage Dolls in a convo about this?????





	Cotton Candy Sweet

The parking lot is _crawling_ with people and dotted with tents when he pulls up to the station.

“There’s a… fair?” he asks, eyes darting over to Wynonna.

“Oh, yeah,” she hums, barely sparing a glance up from her phone.  “Yeah, they do that—it’s like… you take your kids and get them fingerprinted and their little ID’s and shit.  There’s a bunch of food…”  She trails off, eyes lighting up.  “Oh, man, I want a snowcone!”

He parks and stares ahead.  “We have to walk through the fair to get inside?”  _Why are small towns like this?_

For a moment, her face is soft and knowing before she says, “Better hope there’s not, like, an emergency.”  Her eyebrows wiggle a little.  “Oh, every part of the walkway up to the door’s gonna be covered in technicolor puke.  Every year.”

Grimacing, he shakes his head and shoves his way out of the SUV.  He waits for her to get out—it takes a while, but he’s stopped offering to help and it’s made their mornings a helluva lot less tense.  With a scowl and lots of grumbling, she rubs her back and tries, he thinks, to look less like she’s out of breath.

“This whole watermelon thing is getting old,” she complains.

“Home stretch,” he says gently, stroking her shoulder as comfortingly as he can while also trying to dodge kids running around underfoot.  “They do this _every year_?”  He doesn’t remember encountering this the year before.

“You were off your meds, I ate half my body weight in cotton candy,” she replies mildly as he eyes what he _thinks_ is supposed to be the mascot for a just-say-no campaign.  Suit’s seen better days.  “Oh, look, it’s the creepy plague LARPers.”  He follows her gaze and, sure enough, there’s Ewan staring at them like they’re a particularly hard math problem.  Almost at the same time, he and Wynonna wave, cheerfully and neighborly.  “I hate that guy,” she sighs.  “Mm, popcorn…”

With one longing look at the door, he follows her to the tent bustling with kids and harried parents.  It smells like burnt popcorn.  Nicole is alone manning the cash box and machine and she looks a little worn down when they get to the front of the line.

“Hey, Waddles,” she grins.

“Rude,” Wynonna says.  “Do they have those spirally potato things again this year?” she asks, handing Nicole cash and grabbing greedily at the bag she hands her.

“Um, yeah?  Like three stalls that way,” she points.  “Keep her away from the cotton candy,” she tells Dolls conspiratorially.  “Last year was a _mess_.”

“Was the walkway covered in technicolor puke because of _you_?” he asks evenly as he tries to tug her half-heartedly toward the door because they have _work, Wynonna_ , but she won’t be convinced.  She also doesn’t answer him, but does shake the bag of popcorn in his direction.

It’s too salty and a little burnt.  She finishes it off as they wait behind an older woman holding the hand of a squirming kid who can’t be more than five.  The woman gives them one look, eyes darting from Dolls, to Wynonna, to Wynonna’s belly, then straight ahead as she tugs the kid a little closer.

“She disapproves because everyone thinks this is Bobo’s bastard,” she whispers.

“You sure she doesn’t disapprove because your shirt says ‘Whiskey Made’?” he replies just as quietly.  “Wait, why do people think it’s Bobo’s?” he asks when the rest of what she said processes.

“Thank Nedley,” she says wryly.  “No, really, thank him for me, I think he wants to talk to you.”

Just as he turns, he hears the sheriff say gruffly, “I hope you’re planning on staying away from the cotton candy, Wynonna.”

“You overdo the sugar _one time_ and no one lets you hear the end of it,” she grumbles.

He shares a look with Nedley and suddenly realizes there’s no way it was just one time.  He puts a pin in that for later.  “What’s up?” he asks, silently begging for work.

“Actually, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk about a few things,” he replies, thumbs hooked into his belt and Dolls has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.  Instead, he gestures towards the station and spares half a glance back at Wynonna, who just gives him a sarcastic little salute.

“What’s this about?” he asks once they’re inside, but all he gets is a head shake and an invitation into Nedley’s office.

“So, Wynonna’s about ready to pop,” Nedley says, oddly conversational.

“Nope.”

“Have a seat.”  And, sure, it’s not _actually_ an order, but short of breaking windows Dolls doesn’t see a way out of this.  Stiffly, Dolls does as he’s told.  “When’s she due?”

“Couple weeks,” he says cautiously.  “Don’t worry, we still got a plan for any… animal attacks.”

“That’s _not_ what I’m worried about,” he replies pointedly.  “I think you know that, though.  Now, I know times change and I’m not saying I think shotgun weddings are or should be _in vogue_ —” Dolls thinks for a second he’s having a stroke and doesn’t quite catch the rest but he’s pretty sure he heard the phrase _honest woman_.

“Whoa—wait, what?”  He scrubs his face.  “We’re—I’m not—it’s not mine.”

“Well, then, who—”

“I’m the Virgin Mary, updated for a modern audience,” Wynonna interrupts from the doorway, comically overburdened with trays of food in one hand, two snow cones in the other.  “But I did hear a rumor about Bobo Del Rey…”  Her smile is sharp for a moment before she turns to Dolls.  “C’mon, boss, I seem to remember something about work needing to be done.”

He’s helpless to do anything but shrug at Nedley and follow her out.  “Is one of those for me?”

“These are both for me,” she says primly.  With a quick sideways look she continues, “But, I mean, I _could_ share.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so mad I didn't think of this first, but shoutout to that anon holy wow.
> 
> Come by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I take requests and sometimes people send me things that make me fic.


End file.
